Disoriented, she glanced around, heart pounding, nerves jangling, adrenaline surging through her bloodstream. The bell sounded again, and she jolted upright, out of the chair. Who—? Megan shuddered as an image of a large, hulking, rough-voiced man filled her mind. She was alone in the house, and it was late. How late? Megan shot a look at the gleaming sunburst clock on the wall above the fireplace mantel. The clock read 12:05. The bell pealed once more, followed by the unmistakable sound of the doorknob being turned. Megan froze. Dear heaven! Was it him? she thought frantically. Was it that awful man, trying to get at her to finish what he had started Friday night? Panic crawled into her stomach, making her feel physically sick, weak-kneed, terrified. But wait! Think. The attacker didn't know her name...did he? Megan frowned in concentration. Into her mind stole the faint echo of his voice, nasty-sounding, at first calling a generic “lady,” then, as she struggled, fought him, snarling a guttural command: “Be still, you crazy bitch.”
